


Debossing the Stars

by EgregiousEgret



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Fluff, Internalized Fatphobia, Mostly Fluff, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Other, and so is writing it, and will be included in chapter-specific content warnings, aziraphale is a bookbinder, crowley is an astrophysics professor, it's mild but there, the author needs softness in their life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EgregiousEgret/pseuds/EgregiousEgret
Summary: Aziraphale is a bookbinder living in a comfortable cottage on the edge of the Oxfordshire town of Tadfield. Crowley is an astrophysics professor at Oxford University. Brought together by a work meeting (and a slightly meddling librarian/witch), both are surprised at how much they like the other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is going to be a multi-chapter fic, which I haven't done before but am excited to attempt, that should be updating on Mondays. It's going to be fluffy. There's going to be romance. The rating is for language that I anticipate being in here at some point, I'll add content warnings if anything comes up (and if I miss something, please let me know!).

Aziraphale was running late. He did _not_ like running late. It was rude, and disrespectful, and it made his anxiety skyrocket. So, he certainly did not make a habit of being late. But today, oh, it just couldn’t be helped, could it? He had been well absorbed into his book and didn’t want to get up from his perfectly comfortable armchair until he absolutely had to. Had everything gone smoothly, he still should have been 3 minutes early to his meeting (as opposed to his usual 11 minutes – 10 was cutting it a bit close, but 15 felt presumptuous somehow). Everything, however, had not gone smoothly.

He had gathered up his bag, thermos of tea, and umbrella, patted his pockets to double check for both keys and wallet, and set off on his way towards Oxford. It wasn’t raining, but the traffic was going at a slow enough crawl to suggest that not only was it pouring, but pouring cats, dogs, frogs, and any other number traffic-causing (and probably rather confused) animals. And so, he was running late. By the time that he arrived at the University, there were very few parking stalls available and he had to circle the car park twice before squeezing rather haphazardly into what may or may not have been a legal spot. He hurriedly grabbed his bag, throwing his phone and keys into it, and bustled his way towards the Radcliffe Science Library.

Aziraphale had very nearly reached his goal (albeit 8 minutes late) when he barrelled into something with quite some force. Something very tall and very dark and very thin. Or rather, upon closer inspection, some _one_ very tall and very thin and dressed all in black from snakeskin boot to sunglasses.

“Oh dear, I’m dreadfully sorry! I was rather distracted and didn’t see you there, Mr. . . ?” Aziraphale, always polite, asked. The fact that the stranger was also very handsome and had red hair piled quite fetchingly into a messy bun on top of their head didn’t play into the desire for their name at all. Naturally.

“Ngk. Uh. Um, no ‘mister’. Not a mister. Just a Crowley. Well, not _a_ Crowley. Just Crowley. Sorry. Yeah, but it’s alright is all.”

“Ah. Jolly good then. Well, ‘Just Crowley’, it’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I am running,” Aziraphale glanced at his pocket watch, “Oh my! Terribly late!”

With that, Aziraphale continued on his journey. He was surprised when, a few seconds later, Crowley was still beside him, easily keeping pace towards the library.

“Off to the RSL then, dear?”

“Yeah, ‘ve gotta meeting with some bloke. Haven’t met him before, don’t really know what it’s about, or why I’ve gotta be there for it but, y’know, work.”

Now, there was an interesting tidbit. Crowley must work _at the library_. Aziraphale did tend to like people who worked _at a library_. They tended to have a proper appreciation for books.

They had been silent for some time, as they were strangers both running late for meetings that just happened to be in the same direction, when Aziraphale decided that if Crowley worked at a library and Aziraphale liked people that worked at libraries, then it could follow that he might like Crowley and should therefore maybe try to strike up a conversation with the handsome stranger.

“So, not a mister, then. Might I inquire as to you pronouns?”

Crowley looked slightly taken aback by the question.

“If it’s not too forward, of course. I simply figured, two people, walking to meetings in the same direction, it might be better if I knew how to best refer to you.” _Especially if we end up being two people doing more things together_ , he did not add.

“No, yeah, thanks. They/them is my preferred. Sorry, was just a little surprised there for a mo. Not many people actually ask.” _Especially middle-aged people that look quite so fussy_ , they did not add.

“Lovely.” Aziraphale rubbed his hands together contentedly. “I use he/him, by the by.”

Crowley nodded in silent acknowledgment.

Aziraphale wondered if it _would_ be too forward to ask for their number, or card, or _something_ before they went their separate ways. He was intrigued by Crowley, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t been a little, well, lonely lately. It was a little surprising that they had been going the same direction for as long as they had, but he was nearing his meeting room and didn’t want to miss his opportunity to connect further. Aziraphale was just formulating how to best ask for Crowley’s details when he arrived at his destination.

_Buck up, Aziraphale. Now or never, old chap._

“Well, this is me, I suppose. . . ” Before he could continue, he was interrupted by a soft yet commanding voice.

“Aziraphale! I see you’ve already met Dr. Crowley! I had a feeling the two of you might run into each other on your way. . . Do come in!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley attend a meeting and manage to continue spending time together despite their apparent inability to actually communicate. We also get a bit of Aziraphale's history, including his first meeting with Agnes Nutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to chapter 2 of this story! Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos, that was very kind.
> 
> CW for this chapter:  
> Some internalized fatphobia. Aziraphale, although generally kind to his body and happy with himself, assumes that other people will not be so kind to him. There is a reference to one person commenting on his being soft in a negative way.
> 
> Also, there's a little bit of swearing in this chapter.

Aziraphale had met Agnes Nutter on a walk through the grocers some twelve years previous. He had been debating which of two types of biscuits to buy when she strode up to him, handed him her card (Agnes Nutter; Witch, Teller of Nice and Accurate Prophecies, and Librarian), and told him to give her a ring. Then, as she left, tossed over her shoulder that he “better buy both. It will be handy for when your company comes”.

He did end up buying both, less because some strange woman had told him to expect company, more because he deserved it, damnit! He was, however, glad that he had made that decision when he heard a rapping on his door the next day and opened it to find his mother on his step. He had not heard from her in over two years, and his shock at seeing her was enough that he thought maybe this Agnes Nutter was worth a call. She had predicted his company well enough, at least. The fact that the bottom of her card listed her place of employ as the Bodleian Library certainly didn’t hurt the case, either. As Oxfordshire’s newest bookbinder at 28, he was looking for connections with people in the industry and had always dreamed of doing work for the University’s libraries. Maybe this would be his toe in.

Growing up, Aziraphale had not truly expected to ever get to do his dream job. Not that he had an _exact_ dream job, per se, but he had always known that he wanted to work with books. He wanted to read them, and touch them, and enjoy them, and to know that whoever owned them did so because they also loved books. Of course, there were no real jobs like that, at least according to his family and the teachers at his secondary school. Dreams of hobbies (because that’s what everybody said books were) as careers were just that: dreams. At best, he could hope to have a fair sized collection built up over the years that he could possibly enjoy when he was retired. And so, a young Aziraphale had enrolled in a theology program with plans of one day becoming ordained. In fact, he had been well into seminary when he woke up one day to the realization that he could do what he wanted, rather than what his family and church told him to do. It wasn’t that he hated the strictly religious life, but he didn’t _love_ it. Religion should be about love, at least that’s what Aziraphale had always believed, and if he couldn’t love it, how could he be expected to inspire that within his parishioners? No, better to do something that he truly wanted to. And so, he had packed up his meager belongings, found a flat to rent, and started to learn the trade of bookbinding.

Agnes Nutter turned out to be something of a Godsend for Aziraphale. Calling her did end up establishing his ongoing work with the University’s libraries. Although he had only been working at his trade for a couple of years at that point, he was talented and meticulous in his work, and he rivaled even the most dedicated librarian’s care for the books. He very quickly made a name for himself and became the first person called for repairs and restoration in the area. The next decade saw him working on any number of delicate books well older than his great-grandparents.

The meeting at which he met Crowley did not seem, in comparison to some of the jobs he’d worked on with Agnes over the years, to offer anything of particular note for him. She had told him that it would be some standard simple repairs and that there was one book which wanted a new binding. This was, technically, just a consultation, although Aziraphale had found that Agnes was eerily accurate with her predictions of just what needed done on her books and that he was far more likely than not to be bringing the books home with him that same day. So, nothing to note the job as special.

Nothing, that was, other than the inexplicable presence of Crowley. Agnes had assured him that their joining in the meeting was vitally important. They might, according to her, give some very valuable insights on the books, seeing as they were an astrophysicist and the books were within their field. This explanation did not really appease Aziraphale, as he had done work on books from nearly all subjects housed at the University and she had never seen fit to invite an interloper previously. In fact, he was slightly offended at the implication that he might not treat the books with the appropriate respect without a specialist’s intervention.

Crowley was also not entirely sure of Agnes’ explanation for their presence, but at least with this meeting they got to skip out on a departmental get-together. They really weren’t fond of those. Not to mention, they got to meet this book-y bloke, and he seemed alright. Certainly interesting enough, if in a bit of a stuffy, out-of-date-by-over-half-a-century way. They didn’t, however, have much to add to the conversation of the meeting. They had read a total two of the books on offer, but as neither really had to do with any of their research they hadn’t remembered anything of note, and they knew less than nothing about book repairs. But, there they were and there they would stay until the meeting was over.

\---

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were following me today. Jut couldn’t get enough of me in the meeting, then?”

Somehow, Crowley’s attempt to acknowledge that both they and Aziraphale were walking in the same direction yet again did not make the situation feel any less awkward. Something about being two relative strangers who had not actually parted after saying their farewells was a little uncomfortable, and they had hoped that at least getting it out there would ease the situation a tad, but it did not seem as if that would happen. Not, at least for the long moment of silence that stretched between them until Aziraphale broke into giggles.

“At least you didn’t run into me this time!”

“I did no such thing! You hit me! Without so much as a ‘by your leave’!” The good-natured bickering brought a wide grin to Crowley’s face. They had always enjoyed a nice back and forth, and, although they had only just heard it for the first time, they thought that they might be willing to do anything to keep Aziraphale’s giggle going. Or to have it happen again. Preferably on and on forever, if at all possible.

So, they kept up a gentle bicker all the way back to the car park, and it kept the bookbinder happy and giggling. There had even been a couple of snorts of laughter which were far more endearing than Crowley had ever thought a snort could be. The whole walk back, Aziraphale was slightly distracted by his attempts, once again, to build up the courage and ask for Crowley’s number. He had almost got it up by the time they reached his car, and might have succeeded if he’d had only another minute, but he just couldn’t get the words out. Crowley was good looking, and funny, not to mention that they had a doctorate! It was a little intimidating. Surely they couldn’t be interested in spending more time with Aziraphale. He knew what he was like; old-fashioned, rather boring, and, as his former bishop loved to remind him, soft. What he did not know was that Crowley had been struggling and failing to do the same thing the entire way from the library.

And so, berating himself for his cowardice, Aziraphale gently loaded his bag of books into the passenger seat of his car, then got in himself. He put the key in the ignition and turned it, unhappy but ready to start the journey home, alone. He was surprised that, rather than purring to life like it should have done, the car started up an awful sputtering noise. He turned the key again, but the ignition refused to catch. Of course, this was just his luck today. Eyes closed, Aziraphale laid his head against the steering wheel, a brief respite from his misfortune. He stayed there until a light tapping sounded against his window.

“Oh! Crowley, I hadn’t realized that you were still here. My car is apparently refusing to start.”

Crowley, who had been lingering to keep Aziraphale in view for as long as they possibly could, clearly saw that the car wouldn’t start.

“I can see that,” they responded.

Aziraphale stepped out of the car to call his mechanic, who said that she’d be there in about half an hour. Crowley stayed the whole time, trying not to listen to the one side of the conversation that they could hear. Or at least not to listen too closely. It would be rude. So, they stood, thumbs hooked in the pockets of their almost too tight jeans, trying very hard to appear nonchalant. Of course, Crowley had never mastered actually _being_ nonchalant in their life, usually hanging out somewhere closer to “tightly wound ball of anxiety”. Aziraphale, who did not know this about Crowley, thought that they looked quite “cool”. After ending the call with the mechanic, he shared the news of the wait time with his companion, who suggested grabbing a drink at a nearby café while they wait. Crowley was glad that Aziraphale didn’t blink an eye at their presumption to wait with him.

Half an hour later found the pair walking back to the car park, laughing over Crowley’s anecdote about a student, a missing research paper, and a duck. Crowley continued to linger while the mechanic explained to Aziraphale what was wrong with his car and that it would need towed back to the shop, that it wouldn’t be ready for him to pick up for at least a week. Aziraphale took this in stride, gathering what he needed back out of the car in preparation for calling a lift home.

He took it in stride, at least, until it started to rain. The first couple of raindrops turned almost immediately into a downpour and he was absolutely ready for his day to be done. He just wanted to be curled up at home where no more bad things would happen. At least he had remembered to pack his umbrella that morning. He unfurled it and put it over both himself and Crowley, who he was actually glad was there to keep him company. He could barely make out Crowley’s words over the sound of the deluge as they gestured broadly in the direction that Aziraphale figured their car must be in. He only just managed to catch what the other was saying.

“C’mon, Aziraphale. I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you wanna go.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive home and what comes after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter today, hopefully that's alright. I wasn't entirely sure that I would have it up today, I've been rather swamped. But! I did it! Here it is.
> 
> A quick note that if there's anything that I'm not tagging for that would be helpful, please let me know!
> 
> CW: alcohol consumption.

“Slow down, slow down, slow down! Crowley! You go too fast for me.”

This was just the latest in a string of complaints about Crowley’s driving as they careened out of Oxford and onto the road towards Tadfield.

“You are an absolute devil! A. . . a speed demon! A fiend of the utmost” Aziraphale cut himself off as Crowley did something that they would have called merging and Aziraphale would have called an outrageous maneuver that _wanted_ to get them inconveniently killed. Or he would have called it that had he not been entirely focused on keeping down the banana bread and cocoa that he had consumed during their earlier café trip.

The drive became slightly more reasonable once they were out of the city, though not for any effort on Crowley’s part. They seemed to delight in the dangerous and foolish. No, the reasonable nature of the drive was because it is simply much harder to nearly hit pedestrians when there were none to barely avoid. Aziraphale found himself almost enjoying the trip. He and Crowley maintained a steady conversation that ranged over any number of topics, from gardening to opera, font preferences to biggest cooking mistakes. Aziraphale spotting Crowley’s CD collection brought the conversation into the realm of music. He did not recognize any of the albums that Crowley owned.

“How can you _not_ know Queen? They’re only one of the most, no, you know what? They’re _the_ most influential band of the late 20th century!”

“Ah, yes, that may explain it. I tend to stick to the more classical music. Tchaikovsky, Chopin, Vivaldi, you know the sort. Although, I must confess, I do love Billie Holiday for when I’m feeling the need for something exciting and modern.” He said the last as if it were some scandalous secret, giving a conspiratorial eyebrow waggle and a little shimmy in his seat.

It was altogether too charming.

“Billie Holiday! Modern! Pfft!” Crowley tried not to show how endeared they were by Aziraphale’s confession. “Next time, I’ll bring music for you to listen to. We’ve got to catch you up to the last seventy-odd years of music!”

Aziraphale did not answer. He did not answer for long enough that Crowley began to panic and analyze what they had said, terrified they had somehow said something wrong. They didn’t think any of what they had said was offensive, but. . . oh no. Crowley realized. _Next time_. They had really gone so far as to presume that the absolute angel in the seat next to them would want to spend more time with them. A blush worked its way from their ears into their face and down their neck until it disappeared under their collar. They were certain that they’d put their foot in it now, shoved it right up their mouth. Aziraphale wouldn’t want to hang out with some strange astrophysicist, certainly not one as pushy as they were. They were quickly spiralling into a full panic when their thoughts were interrupted by a reply so soft that they nearly missed it.

“I’d like that.”

After that brief interlude, which was actually much shorter than it had felt to Crowley, who was still coming down from their blush, the conversation flowed steadily to Aziraphale’s house. When they arrived, Aziraphale grabbed his bag and stepped out of the car. He took a deep and steadying breath before closing the door.

“Would you care to come in? I can put on some tea. You could stay for dinner, as a thanks for your troubles.”

Though Crowley protested that “it was no trouble, really, I live out this way anyhow,” they were successfully tempted in for a cup of tea and some food.

“Just so long as it’s not oysters!” Crowley joked, recalling Aziraphale telling them earlier of his major mishap trying to prepare oysters a few years previous. Apparently, lemon juice was one of those things that was best measured rather than being poured onto food in copious amounts.

“No, just pasta today. I figure that we should be quite safe with that. Oh, and I do have a lovely D’antan that should pair quite nicely. I’ve been waiting for good company to share it with.”

And so, a pleasant evening passed, with good food, good wine, and better company. They had finished the promised wine two bottles ago, and the discussion had veered into topics that neither party actually knew much about at all, such as kraken and French stews. Crowley was thinking through how, exactly, they would be getting home considering the copious amount of alcohol that they had consumed when Aziraphale brought up the very issue.

“It’s rather late, dear, certainly too late to get home at a reasable, a resale, a. . . a good time, and you can’t drive, not after so much drink, so much drinking. Why don’t you stay here? The couch pulls out, and I think I have a spare toothbrush hiding somewhere.”

Sure enough, a toothbrush was to be found in the recesses of the linen cupboard, of all places, and Aziraphale loaned Crowley a set of pyjamas that engulfed their thin frame but didn’t quite reach their ankles. Once Aziraphale had retreated to his bedroom, instructing Crowley to help themselves to anything they needed, Crowley settled into the pullout, snuggling into the borrowed pyjamas. As they curled up on themselves, they noticed a wonderful scent lingering on their borrowed garments, vanilla, and cinnamon, and something that they didn’t quite recognize, but smelled kind of like warmth felt. This, they realized, must be what Aziraphale smelled like. It was heavenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did learn about the importance of measuring lemon juice in much the same way Aziraphale did, I decided that I could probably tell how much was the right amount to add onto some (otherwise lovely, if I might be so bold) ravioli that I had made. I could not tell. I put a lot on there. It was very, very bad. Measure lemon juice, folks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale stays up most of the night worrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome back!
> 
> Before we get going I have two things to apologize for. The first of these is how very long this chapter took to write and post. I've been rather overwhelmed by life lately (haven't we all!) and so haven't really been in the mind-space to write. Hopefully I'll be back to more regular posting starting next week now that I'm back in a more consistent schedule. The second apology is for the angst that I really hadn't planned on writing, but did, and now that's really all this chapter is, but my brain wouldn't let me write anything else so... there's this. Sorry.
> 
> Also, as a little note, the plot that I had planned for this story isn't quite what I really want. So, I'm changing the conflict to more of a "these two are not the brightest and don't realize their mutual feelings and so spend a little while being silly about that". Which means that the angst won't last for long! Because really, I do want a fluffy story. But, the chapter count might go up.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoy reading this, thank you for your patience.
> 
> CW: Aziraphale worries about coming out as asexual to Crowley (although this won't actually be a problem later on, I promise! Only sweet love and care and acceptance from Crowley)

Aziraphale hardly slept at all that night. He didn’t tend to sleep well at the best of times and now, with Crowley just down the hall, wearing _his_ clothes . . . far too many thoughts were running through his head at far too fast a pace for him to truly consider drifting off. He couldn’t even calm his mind enough to focus on reading, his typical activity before bed (and in bed, and when he should be in bed, but wasn’t, because he was reading). He tried, of course he tried, but he found himself distracted. He re-read the same paragraph over and over, not even noticing until his eyes had glazed over while he still had no idea what, exactly, Ms. Bennett had said to Mr. Darcy.

Certainly nothing that would help Aziraphale in this situation.

Although he often sought advice through the actions of the characters in his favourite books, this particular book had no real bearing on his relationship with Crowley (because, really, that was what this entire situation was about). In fact, if anything, his and Crowley’s relationship was a foil to Elizabeth and Darcy’s. He had met Crowley and immediately gravitated toward them, they were gorgeous, and smart, and funny, and . . . and kind! They were nice! Aziraphale _liked_ them. He wanted to keep them around.

And, sure, at first it was largely an aesthetic thing, Crowley truly was very handsome and Aziraphale found them ridiculously attractive. He was sure that anybody who met them would find them so! And if that physical attractiveness had been it, or even the bulk of Aziraphale’s fascination with the professor, it would have been fine! He could have – no, would have! he told himself – asked Crowley for their number, suggested getting a drink, maybe even dinner, see where a date took them. Whether or not he really would have, however, could not be known, as he had gone right ahead and liked Crowley.

And not _only_ in a romantic way, but most certainly also in a friendship way.

God, thinking that made Aziraphale feel as though he were back in grade school (Do you like me? Check yes or no).

Although, really, that would have made this whole thing much simpler, a nice little not to find out how they felt about him. Because he didn’t know. And he couldn’t just ask.

The thing was, Aziraphale was lonely. Much of the time, he didn’t notice it, or he could at least ignore it so that it didn’t bother him overmuch, but he knew that he was. Not only did he not have a partner (which he knew was not necessary to living a happy, comfortable life in which he loved those around him and was loved in turn, but would be nice), but he didn’t have other people. His most constant friend, if he could even call her that – they very rarely met outside of work, was Agnes. He had essentially no ties with any family and his school and church friends had dropped off immediately when he left that life behind.

So really, he wanted companionship. He wanted someone to see him and like him, someone to have lunches with, go to the theatre with, and generally just _be_ with. It didn’t have ot be romantic. It just had to be caring.

Crowley seemed like they could be that someone. Aziraphale had had an absolutely lovely time with them that evening and probably could have stayed up chatting with them for many more hours, if not for the necessity of rest. Not that he was getting much of that rest anyhow. The two of them got on like . . . like whatever it was that went together in pods. Aziraphale wanted to keep that. He couldn’t risk scaring away the first person that he had really, truly liked and felt comfortable with in years by bringing up any feelings of a more romantic nature or, Heaven forbid, asking them on a date. Not to mention, _if_ Aziraphale did “ask Crowley out”, as the kids said, and _if_ they said yes, they would inevitably come to the point in their relationship where Crowley would want to pursue intimacy of a more below the belt nature than Aziraphale would want and Aziraphale would have to explain that although _yes_ , he did find them incredibly attractive and _yes_ he did want romance with them, he didn’t want to have sex with them (or anyone!) and wouldn’t be willing to add that to their relationship.

And then, he was certain, Crowley would leave him.

And he would be back where he was now: friendless, creeping up on middle-aged, and lonely.

No, best to keep his less platonic feelings to himself. And if Crowley did have any feelings of a more romantic nature for him _and_ they were to mention them to him . . . well, best not to speculate.

They would cross that bridge if they got there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, we're back into the fluff that I had planned at the beginning. This is a bit of a longer chapter and it has quite a bit of dialogue, but I hope that you all enjoy it!

Quite unlike Aziraphale, Crowley slept wonderfully. Sure, they were curled up on a pull-out sofa rather than in their own large bed that led more pillows than they were willing to admit to, but Aziraphale’s house was cozy and comfortable in a way that it really had no business being, considering they had never been there before.

They awoke earlier than their usual for a Saturday morning to find Aziraphale already up and puttering around the kitchen humming to whatever song was in his head. Deciding that, great as the bookbinder was, it was far to early to deal with puttering and humming, Crowley stuck on their sunglasses and slunk to the bathroom to brush their teeth before greeting their cheery host. They emerged, still in loose tartan pyjamas that they weren’t yet conscious enough to be horrified by, and plonked themselves down in a dining chair.

Aziraphale looked pleased to see them (although, really, where would they have gone?) and gave a far more bright and cheerful “good morning!” than they were prepared for. He found Crowley to be absolutely adorable in the morning, although he was sure that they would resent that description. They were slouched even more in on themselves than they had been the day before (a seemingly unnatural feat), were a little dazed and out of it, and kept frowning at things that they were uncertain of or were too in-their-face for so early in the morning. Things like the tea kettle, and the open window, and the yellow smiley face image on the side of Aziraphale’s mug. _Very cute_ , Aziraphale decided, _almost like a disgruntled kitten_. He found himself wondering if Crowley was like this every morning: bleary, cranky, and just so darn precious.

This line of thought was abruptly cut off as Crowley continued their morning routine. Indeed, nearly every line of thought was cut off as Crowley got up from their chair and _stretched_.

They reached their arms over their head, interlacing their fingers and pressing up. Fingers, shoulders, and back all cracked splendidly as they wriggled from side to side, nearly emulating a snake.

When he was finally able to look away, Aziraphale was glad that Crowley hadn’t seemed to notice them staring. It somehow seemed too intimate to see them like this. They were gorgeous, sure, but here they were. In Aziraphale’s kitchen, in Aziraphale’s _pyjamas_ , being gorgeous and comfortable and finally starting to grin like the cat who got the cream (the snake who got the mouse? Aziraphale’s brain kept giving him weird animal comparisons to the lovely figure who stood before him).

Aziraphale’s heart ached with a simultaneous fulness and emptiness as he longed to see this scene play out every day for the rest of his life. His resolution from the previous night, however, told him that he would not be able to have that.

“Ah. . . that’s better,” Crowley sighed, “Can I help with anything?”

The question brought Aziraphale back to himself and the two worked together to prepare a simple breakfast of toast with marmalade, yogurt, orange juice, and tea. They fell back into an easy conversation as they ate, although discussing far more sober topics than they had been able to the previous night.

“And so you just, what, up and left the Church?”

“Well, not exactly, I do still go to church, although a different one now. I just didn’t think that the ecclesiastical life would be best for me. I wouldn’t have enjoyed it near as much as I love my current profession. I did wonder for a while if I hadn’t made the wrong decision, my family certainly thought that I had, but after so long doing this, I know it truly was for the best. And now look! It’s brought us together. It’s hard to conceive of the far-reaching impacts of each choice that we make. . . it’s ineffable, really.”

“Ineffable? I suppose. Anyhow,” Crowley said, quickly bringing the conversation back into more effable territory, “is your workshop in here somewhere?”

“Oh, yes, just down the hall there. I’ve turned the spare room into something of a workshop, I do quite like being able to work from home, not to mention the amount I save by not needing to lease a storefront! I’ll show it to you today before you leave.”

They finished eating their breakfast and sat together at the kitchen table, a round wooden thing that showed its age through the scratches and rings that adorned its honey surface. Crowley nursed an Earl Grey between their hands, letting the warmth seep into their perpetually cold fingers. Aziraphale looked as relaxed as he ever did, meaning that although he was not quite leaning back in his chair, he also wasn’t sitting ramrod straight.

“Crowley, dear?” he asked, breaking their companionable silence.

“Mph?” Crowley, who was lost in their morning musings, responded.

“I’ve been wondering, and I truly hope that you don’t mind my asking – you don’t have to answer if you don’t wish, but I was wondering why you wear those sunglasses? I don’t mind, it’s just that we are indoors, and when we weren’t it was cloudy as anything. It does make a fellow curious.”

“Mmm, I was wondering when you’d ask that. Yeah, ‘s not a problem. I’ve got a condition. Makes ‘em bloody sensitive to light and. . . well, y’know. . . they just look a little funny. Makes people uncomfortable. Didn’t want to run you off just yet.” Despite their almost joking words, their last sentence came out a little wobbly, as though they really were worried that their eyes would send Aziraphale running for the hills.

“Oh, I see. Thank you for telling me, but I assure you that it will take a bit more than ‘a little funny’ looking eyes to scare me off! I rather like you and I’m afraid that you may have to literally chase me off to rid of me. I’d. . . well, I’d love to see them if you’re amenable, and you must tell me at once if there is anything that I can do to make the light more comfortable for you.”

Unbeknownst to Aziraphale, Crowley’s eyes widened behind their dark lenses. They didn’t often get people so willing to accommodate them or people who really wanted to stick around them longer than necessary.

“Ngk. Thanks. Should be good right now, you haven’t got the lights turned on. I’ll just take them off, then.”

And with that, Crowley removed their sunglasses to reveal bright golden irises with amber streaking through them as if the sun were shining right through them. Long, slitted pupils slashed vertically through there centers. Crowley kept their gaze on the table in front of them for a moment before looking up to meet Aziraphale’s stormy eyes.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, “You’re, I mean _they’re_ absolutely beautiful! My goodness. I’m not sure that I ever want to _stop_ looking at them.”

Crowley responded with a sound that began off as far too many vowels and ended up with far too few vowels as Aziraphale turned bright red, having realized what he had just said. Surely Crowley would see that as blatant flirting. Not acting on any romantic feelings, indeed!

They stared at each other for a long moment before Crowley said:

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an actual angel? Like, you might be perfect. I just, mph, just, ugh, think maybe you’re just. Wow. Amazing.” Crowley was mumbling by the end of their almost incomprehensible speech, now also blushing up to their ears.

Aziraphale might have laughed at that – an angel! Him! – but he could tell that Crowley was entirely earnest and was nervous to say such a thing. So, he reached out to pat Crowley’s hand, which was still wrapped around their mug. His heart felt as though it might beat out of their throat for the brief instant that they were touching – _they were touching!_

“You, just now,” he managed to get out.

He pulled his hand away again much sooner than he (or Crowley, though Aziraphale couldn’t be certain of that) would have liked.

“Alright, then! What say you to that workshop tour?”

He led Crowley through the hallway and into a room that was cluttered in a way that clearly followed an organizational system of some kind (not that any onlooker could possibly figure out what that structure was). There was a large work table in front of a window that had heavy drapes drawn across it to keep out any potentially damaging light. The other walls were covered in bookshelves which were full of tomes that Crowley couldn’t even begin to guess the values of.

“Wow,” the sighed. They didn’t have much else to say. There was something so very _Aziraphale_ about the space that they almost felt as if they were infringing on the man’s very soul itself. Somehow, doing this made Crowley feel vulnerable and seen.

Aziraphale showed them about, explaining some of the tools and his current projects. Although Crowley still did not understand much of it, they were enthralled by how excited and passionate the bookseller was about his work.

When there was nothing else to show, it was time for Crowley to leave. Neither really wanted to part, but Crowley had marking to do and Aziraphale really did need to get started on those astronomy books. Before Crowley left, they exchanged phone numbers so that they could arrange to get together again soon.

“And don’t forget, you promised to bring some of that ‘bebop’ that you like so much next time!” Aziraphale called from his front stoop.

Crowley smirked, then paused halfway into their Bentley.

“Angel, I was wondering. Do you think that maybe next time could be a date?”

Aziraphale’s hands squeezed together in front of his belly, shoulders lifting quickly in a pleased wiggle.

“Yes, I do believe that a date is a splendid idea.”

The matching grins that plastered across their faces did not fade for the rest of the day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting up a date. That's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Here's a very short snippet that was meant to be longer, but isn't. It's been hectic lately, hopefully there will be more soon.
> 
> Also, heads up, this is not at all in any way, shape, or form edited even a bit. I typed it up without even writing it in my notebook first (which is what I usually do) and then threw it on here so... It may not be quite as polished as usual. Sorry.

Crowley pulled their phone out of their jacket pocket.

They turned on the screen, and turned it back off without actually looking at it. They put it back in their pocket.

Pulling their hands through their hair, they paced from one end of the room to the other.

They sighed, and pulled the phone out again, actually unlocking it this time, and pulling up their contacts list and gazing at the newest addition to the list. They had been repeating this pattern for about half an hour, occasionally breaking it to yell at the greenery in the room over (“What are you lot looking at? Don’t you have something better to focus on like, I dunno, maybe GROWING BETTER?”), but had yet to actually do anything with the phone.

 _This time, though_ , they told themselves, _this time is different. I’m going to press the button. I’m going to give him a call_.

The problem was, the _problem was_ , that it had been less than 24 hours since they had last seen the absolute angel of a man that they were going on a date with. Were you allowed to call people within 24 hours of seeing them? Or was that only for dates? That whole thing seemed kinda stupid to Crowley, why not just talk to people when you want to talk to them? But, they were fairly certain that there was some secret rule that other people knew that dictated when they called others. Hence the panic about whether or not they could call Aziraphale.

As they stared at the contact in their phone and imagined that it was staring back judgementally, they found themselves thinking about Aziraphale. He had been so kind to them; gentle, and caring, and just overall _nice_. Thinking on the interactions they had had so far, Crowley thought that Aziraphale probably wouldn’t care about the secret rule, or at least wouldn’t say anything cruel if they called him. So, without entirely meaning to, they clicked the call button.

\---

Aziraphale was quite comfortably settled into his evening reading when he registered that his phone was ringing. At first, he was confused. He didn’t tend to leave the ringer on, and certainly not when he was meant to be doing something as important as _reading_. So, he figured that he would ignore the infernal racket. The caller would go away eventually, and then he could finish this chapter (okay, and probably the next five or six chapters. . . or maybe the whole book) in peace. But a tiny thought flickered at the back of his mind, and then became a bit of a bigger thought, and then became a very loud shout of “Crowley!”

He barely hit the answer key before the call went to voicemail.

“Hello,” he answered a little breathlessly, “Aziraphale Fell here.”

“Yeah, I know who it is, angel, I’m the one who called you,” came the response from the other side.

“Oh, Crowley, I was so hoping it was going to be you! I wasn’t sure if you were going to call, or I was supposed to call you. It has been quite some time since I’ve been _in the dating game_ , so to speak, I don’t remember quite how all of this goes.”

Crowley could almost hear the air quotation marks that Aziraphale was surely making. They felt most (never quite all) of the tension flow out of their body. Although they had only said goodbye to the angel the day before and had then proceeded to think about him constantly since then, they had forgotten exactly how soothing Aziraphale’s presence was.

“Hm, yeah, I also um. . . haven’t been out for a while. Guess we’ll figure it out together then, eh? Anyways, I was thinking about that date. . . Would Friday be too soon? There’s this little sushi shop that’s opened up just in Tadfield, we could give it a try.”

Aziraphale eagerly agreed and Crowley promised to pick him up at 6 o’clock for the date. Having decided on this, neither was quite sure what to do. Normally, Aziraphale would have taken the lull in the conversation for a natural end to the call so that he could get back into his book. But this phone call wasn’t just any phone call. It was Crowley. So, he put his book back in its spot and asked Crowley how their day had been. Even over the phone, the two found that they could lose themselves in conversation for ages, and only came to an end when Crowley had yawned more times than Aziraphale could keep track of.

“Well, my dear, I suppose we ought to be heading to bed. Thank you for calling, it was very nice to hear your voice. Sleep well, Crowley, and dream of whatever you like best.”

Crowley was almost certain that they had imagined the last sentence, it felt too close to a blessing from an angel to be real. They murmured some sort of response, and although neither they nor Aziraphale could actually make sense of what they had said, both knew the sentiment to be something sweeter and more caring than Crowley would likely confess to being were they any more alert.


End file.
